What Do Golems Dream Of?
by bamftastik
Summary: *NSFW/MA* An experiment with the Swamp Witch's newest spell sends Shale into the Fade. But what do golems dream of? ...many, many birds were harmed in the making of this fic.


So. This was the Fade. It was dull, perhaps not so dull as any place else, but certainly not worth the excitement that these humans had for dreams. Soft where it should be solid, sliding and changing like a stammering and uncertain thing, all covered with a thick and irritating fog… It was different. But certainly not "fun."

Shale had been here once before. The mages in their cursed tower, the demon with the soft and sagging face – they had used their trickery to trap It and Its companions here. But they had escaped quick enough, oh yes. The demon had made a pleasant crunching sound when they had crushed its head.

This, though, had been the Sister's idea. She was to blame.

The Swamp Witch had learned a new spell. While it would be useful to charm one's enemies to sleep, the Witch was a mage and not to be trusted. Such tricks were for the weak-minded, darkspawn and bandits and rotting ones; certainly they would not work on a superior construct. But this had sparked debate. Had not the demon in the tower brought a golem into the Fade? The Warden had seemed to think the proposition interesting. Shale had not. And the Sister, with her irrational fondness for all things imaginary, had suggested that it might even be "fun."

Looking round now, Shale sighed. They had given their advice, oh yes, It and the Sister and the Swamp Witch. The dream would come from Shale and yet not, some uncontrollable conjuring of what they called a "subconscious." It sounded suspicious, changeable and weak, this mind that was not a mind. It was doubtful that Shale had one at all.

And yet here she stood.

"She." Strange still, that thought. As if in response, the mists shifted, twisting into a strange sort of fogged and silvery window. It was pretty enough, shiny as a well-polished gem, but there was a dwarf standing in the mists beyond, fixing Shale with a most irritated glare. Perhaps it wanted to be squished.

"Dwarf."

"Dwarf."

Shale snorted. "I am a golem."

"I am a golem."

Ah. A reflection, then. Like the time that she had caught the Painted Elf admiring himself in the waters of the lake. Or the Swamp Witch smiling into her hand mirror while the others slept.

Moving closer, Shale scowled. The dwarf mirrored her. Shale raised a brow. The dwarf did the same. Raising her fist, Shale made a mighty crushing motion. The dwarf grinned.

It was a weak thing and small, though there was a thickness to the shoulders and chest that might be considered impressive as far as such things go. It wore only simple leathers, its hair dark, braided and swept back over the ears. There was a thoughtful scowl on its round and pouting face. Shale suddenly wondered if other dwarves would find this one pretty. She wondered why she wondered that.

But the dwarf was looking beyond her now, to something in the distant fog. There was a door there, she realized. And again the Sister's words came back to her. "Don't fight it. Enjoy it." With a rumbling growl, Shale stepped through the door.

She would _crush_ the Sister for this, she truly would. She would crush It and the Swamp Witch and perhaps even the Dog for good measure.

The door opened onto a courtyard. And it was filled with birds.

Pigeons and swallows and hawks and sparrows, circling, blackening the sky, sure to blanket the earth with feathers and filth and feces at any moment. There were others too, swans and geese and larger creatures still, pink and gangly things with twisted necks, another that seemed to be made entirely of shimmering feathers.

All around her they moved… but none approached. None seemed to notice her. None swooped down to take aim.

Ah, yes. She was a dwarf. Small and weak and so very squishy, but beneath the notice of the vile fiends. Perhaps she could use this to her advantage. Surely even this form would be able to crush the smaller beasts…

But they squawked then, hundreds of cacophonous and bleating voices. These new ears were fragile and weak and easily deafened. She had almost put those small and fat-fingered hands to her head before she realized… these were cries of pain. These were beautiful.

It moved amongst the flock like a great and avenging shadow. Dark, swift, large… she caught a flash of light on tightened muscle as it spun its blade through beak and wing and feather. The birds were scattering now, their cries dying, cut short as he moved.

He had carelessly forgotten to don his breastplate, his helm, his gloves… and the breeches could not afford much protection, thin and tight-fitting as they were. But they had been only birds after all, had never been a threat, not to him. His blade was still thick with their blood as he rested elbows cross the pommel, the odd feather sticking here and there. Gazing down at her, his face twitched, almost smiling.

"You look well, kadan."

Had he always been so very large? But she was a dwarf now, yes. Small and fleshy and suddenly quite warm.

"You killed the birds."

Still his arms were slick, the sweat beading on his chest. Such excretions, such… She couldn't bring herself to scowl.

"For you, kadan."

"For me?"

He was standing closer now, looming even. Funny, she hadn't seen him move.

"Vile creatures. They deserved to die."

"Oh yes."

His hand came to rest on her shoulder, warm and strong but squeezing gently. "Have I told you how it cheers my soul to see you in battle, kadan? To see our foes tremble before your roar?"

"And you… it cheers my… right. With the fighting."

Still he smiled down at her.

This was a dream, a trap for the weak-willed, miserable and fleshy and full of birds and oh how she would crush them and—

Suddenly those arms were wrapping round her waist, strong and thick as she imagined. Up and up they lifted her and there were things against her face, soft and slimy and – yes – this was that thing that she had seen so many times, this vile and horrible and _human_ act of kissing. But she was a dwarf, was she not? And he a qunari. Perhaps…

She found her new lips parting, his tongue thick and strong as the rest of him, the rhythmic, plunging massage of it against her own… pleasant. His hands were on her back now, her thighs wrapping round his waist with surprisingly impressive strength. So large was he that these arms seemed maddeningly small, straining , grasping round, but her fingers roamed, kneading, pressing against the tightening muscles of his chest. He rumbled against her, echoing the strange and distant sound of her own cry.

But this was a dream, shifting, changing. The leathers seemed to slip away, the breeze cool across her newly bared back. Worry then – shame – if that's what they would call it. This body was strange. Would he find it so? But still he pressed against her, his skin warming beneath the scrape of her nails.

They strayed low now. His breeches seemed to have disappeared.

She had seen this before, had had no choice. The act she understood well enough but this dwarven form was… well… _small_ and the qunari were so large that she –

As the cry escaped her, she might have muttered something about the Stone. If she had ever had ancestors, surely they deserved to be praised. Perhaps if she screamed loud enough…

The mists seemed to tremble with it, swirling, coalescing, darkening her vision. He was there somewhere, her hands reaching… grasping… Something prickled along her arm, small, nagging, inconsequential. She would crush it for this…

Shale opened her eyes.

There were trees above, the night's sky clear. It took her a moment to realize that she was looking up, to remember that she should be looking down.

They were all there, blinking foolishly up at her, It and the Sister and the Swamp Witch. And there were others now, the Painted Elf and the Dwarf and the damnable Dog and –

"Are you unwell, kadan?"

Her growl rumbled deep, proper, glare fixing on It and Its companions. If she did not turn to the voice behind her it was merely because her neck was stiff.

The Sister was grinning. "Did you dream?"

"It is none of Its business."

"Well the spell worked, at least." The Warden nodded. "You slept."

"I am glad that It is pleased. But if It has nothing better for me to do… I think that I will… go for a walk."

Turning fast as stone would allow, Shale stalked off into the trees.


End file.
